


Later

by ourdreamsrealized



Series: Birthday Prompt AUs - 2016 [8]
Category: 101 Dalmatians (1961), 101 Dalmatians (1996), 101 Dalmatians - All Media Types, Disney - All Media Types
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Family Fluff, Flirting, Fluff, Romance, Sexual Themes, genderbent, shameless flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 14:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17644625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourdreamsrealized/pseuds/ourdreamsrealized
Summary: Genderbent!Cruella de Vil and your child together plan a surprise party for you.





	Later

**Author's Note:**

> 8/15. I don’t know if the anons who requested this were the same person or not, but I put the two requests together because they were the exact same idea…I hope no one minds.
> 
> Posting stuff from my Tumblr. Enjoy!

“Sir, your wife is here to see you.”

Cruelle presses his pointer finger on his office phone, holding the intercom button down as he says, “I’ll send for her right away.”

He then looks down at the little four-year-old in his lap, a crooked smile tugging at his lips, “Why don’t you go get your Mummy?”

The small boy returned the smile, resembling his father in his ability to make anyone who so much as looked at his grin melt, “Okay, Papa.”

“Good,” he lifted his son off of his lap before getting to his feet. “You remember the way, right?”

The boy nodded before taking off in a sprint, heading straight out of his father’s large office to the elevators at the end of the hall. He got on his tippy-toes to press the down button, and while he waited for the lift, he turned to his father, who winked at him from his desk. 

The doors to the elevator opened moments later, a  _ding_  signifying its arrival, and Cruelle’s misty eyes did not leave his child until they could no longer see him. 

While his son was preoccupied with bringing his mother up, Cruelle opened his desk drawer and took out a rectangular box, lined in black velvet. He quickly wrapped the container with scarlet ribbon, tying a perfect bow on top. He then walked around the desk, gift in hand, to a table he had set up in the corner of the room. 

In the middle of the table was a black and white cake that had “Happy Birthday” written on top in red icing. He placed the velvet case next to it and remained standing when he heard another ding echo throughout the floor.

He didn’t know why he was nervous; you were his wife for five years now, but he still found himself moving his fingers to his bicolor hair, slicking it back even though he knew it was groomed to perfection.

When you entered the room, your son gripping onto your delicate hand as he walked a bit too quickly for you—you were wearing a pair of heels—Cruelle found his breath was stolen from him. You had a weird ability to do that, even when you weren’t dressed in a black, knee-length dress and faux-fur coat the hung low on your arms. 

You gasped when you saw the set-up, “Did you two do this for me?”

She brought a gloved hand to her cheek, looking from her husband to the four-year-old next to her. 

“It was all S/N’s idea,” Cruelle’s gaze found your E/C one, and you gave him a ruby smile. 

“Happy Birthday, Mummy!”

You bent down, allowing your son to press a kiss to your rouge cheek, and Cruelle was taken aback when you picked up S/N, balancing him on your hip as you walked over to him.

“Thank you, my love,” you whispered, and Cruelle had to suppress the shiver that threatened to go through him as you pressed a chaste kiss on the corner of his lips. 

As you parted, your eyes promised him appreciation in a form that S/N couldn’t be present for, and Cruelle smirked back at you.

“Shall we, then?” she asked, lowering their little boy to the ground.

“Come on, Papa! We have to sing Happy Birthday,” the S/N exclaimed, climbing up onto the chair and placing his chubby hands on the table.

Cruelle’s stare met yours again, and they still held a message.

_Later, Cruelle. Later._

But you were both okay with waiting, happy to spend the afternoon celebrating with S/N. 


End file.
